Define Interesting
by Ferwyn
Summary: When a lead on Teyla’s people doesn’t pan out, Sheppard and team are thrown into a whirlwind of mayhem including Genii, sea-monsters, Wraith, cannonades, cannibals…and that’s just the tip of the iceberg! Whumpage all around!
1. Chapter 1

SGA (no crossover) possible spoilers up to "Quarantine" in Seas. 4.

Disclaimer – I don't own any of this except original characters and plot.

Define Interesting

Chapter 1

"You're late."

"Oh, yes, didn't Radek tell you I was down fixing the array that he and his goons broke?" Rodney's face was red and he was huffing air like a locomotive. "Had to pull an all-nighter. Again."

John Sheppard eyed the mussy hair and red-rimmed, manic eyes and decided to forgo a snarky comment. "Have a seat. Teyla's got something for us." He indicated the chair to his left as he turned back to face the room. They were all in Sam Carter's office - Ronon slouched against the wall behind him, Teyla had one hip propped on the front of Colonel Carter's desk, and Sam sitting calmly behind it. "Go ahead," he told the pregnant Athosian. "You were saying?"

As Teyla stood straight the mound of her belly became more obvious. She took a deep breath and smoothed down her shirt over the bulge. "I believe I might have a lead in the mystery of my people's disappearance."

"That's good news, Teyla." John leaned forward, searching her eyes with his own. Her normally clear, dark brown eyes were shadowed with the agony of the unknown fate of the Athosians. He knew the last couple of months had been a trial for her – having to come to terms with being pregnant with a child who may never know his father. She didn't lose hope, though. Hope was the one ray of light she clung to. "What's the lead?'

"Last night, Major Lorne brought back a message from Methos from a friend of my father's. His name is Saul Logan, and he is a traveling…ah, performer." She took another deep breath. A hand was protectively curved around the fullest part of her belly. "He has had word that a man on a planet called Jakurand knows where my people have been taken." She held John's eyes for a moment, the hope blazing in the dark orbs an entreaty he could not resist. She suddenly turned to Sam. "I would like to go and find this man who knows about my people. I believe that this time…" She could not go on due to the tears threatening her composure.

Sam met John's eyes. He gave a barely perceptible nod. "Do you have a name and place?" Sam leaned forward, bracing herself on her desk.

Teyla nodded. "Yes, his name is Madesh. He is a tavern owner in large seaport. The sign of the Taimarian Bull."

"Very well, but I want your team to go with you. Have we been there before?" This time, Sam looked at Rodney.

When no immediate answer was forthcoming, John glanced over at the scientist seated next to him. Rodney's head was lolling forward and his mouth was slack. A tiny bit of drool had just started a downward course to his chin. John bit back a laugh as he nudged the snoozing scientist. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty!"

"Hunh, hey, what!" Rodney came awake with a start, sitting up and glancing at the data pad in his lap. Except it had slid to the floor. He retrieved it and when he straightened, he looked around, waiting for some clue as to what was going on.

"You mind joining us, McKay?" Sam asked with a sweet, razor-edged smile.

"Like I said earlier – just coming off an all-nighter."

"As Teyla was telling us," John started, his voice calm but with an edge to it that McKay wouldn't mistake. "She has a lead on her people, a barkeeper on a planet called…" He looked to Teyla, needing a little assistance.

"Jakurand. I have never been there myself, although I have heard that they are fair traders and may even have some items you might wish to barter for."

"Yeah, Jakurand. Thank you. Carter asked if we'd been there before."

Teyla held out a slip of paper to McKay. "Here is the gate address."

"Hey, you ever been there?" John turned to Ronon as Rodney studied the address.

The large Satedan shook his head, his long dreds resettling over broad shoulders. "I don't think so. With a name like that, I think I'd remember."

John lifted his chin in acknowledgment and turned back. "Anything else we should know about these people? Is there any chance of danger?" He held her eyes meaningfully as he stressed the word "any."

Teyla's brow furrowed in thought for a moment. "From what I have been told, they are peaceful – I believe all they have in the towns is a small constabulary. I do not even think they have the need for organized armed forces." John grunted cynically at that. She went on, not hearing his interruption. "I do not foresee any issues. They are a sea-faring race. As most of their planet is water, they have great ships that ply the ocean between population centers located on islands."

John nodded slowly. He would still take every precaution, although he knew he could not forbid her going. This was about her people.

"Wonder what kind of fish they have?" Ronon wondered.

"Mmmm, sushi!" John wiggled his eyebrows in enthusiasm, grinning as the serious mood in the office dissipated.

"It's not like we don't have sea creatures here," Rodney added waspishly.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Teyla straightened up from where she had leaned against the desk again. "I have been told that the stargate is on an island a good distance from the town where we need to go. We should take a jumper."

"No problem." John rose from his seat smoothly and looked to Carter for confirmation.

She paused however before nodding. Her eyes flicked between him and Rodney, then to Teyla. "Are you sure about this?" she asked the petite Athosian. "I mean, we've been looking for your people for a while now and follow up on any lead. I just don't want you to get your hopes up." The "again" was unspoken.

Too late, John thought to himself. He'd seen the look in his teammate's eyes as she'd come into the office.

Teyla faced the other woman. "Colonel Carter," she began in a hard voice. "Would you not do everything in your power to find your people, your family, if they were missing?" She pronounced each syllable correctly and precisely. John knew she was upset. The tilt of her chin and set of her lips told volumes. He only hoped Sam would recognize the signs and concede the point.

They held each other's eye for a moment longer before Sam nodded. "I understand, Teyla." Her voice was soft. Teyla nodded in reply, and Sam looked to the rest of the team. "You have a go. Just be careful."

"You say that as if we're never careful." John's voice sounded petulant.

Sam merely smiled back. "Also keep an eye out for trade ops. We're low on fresh meat again."

"Will do." He followed Rodney and Teyla out, Ronon right behind him. "We leave in two hours, Rodney," he called. A wave of a hand acknowledged. He saw Ronon come up beside him. "Hey, did you see the drool on McKay's chin?"

"Yup. Wish I had a camera."

OOOooooOOO

"Oh, did someone forget to mention that this place was oh so tropical?" Rodney's voice could cut steel. He was already sweating, his face red. "And humid!"

"Gee, McKay, I thought that the islands we saw would have clued you in." Sheppard surreptitiously eased his tactical vest away from his chest. Cooling air seeped in, providing a moments relief. "Not to mention the foliage."

"Ha, ha, very funny Colonel I Don't Sweat." Rodney attempted to fan his face with a hand. "I didn't even bring sunscreen."

"Deal with it, McKay." Ronon rolled his eyes at John as he brushed past.

John noted that the bigger man wasn't even sweating. Yet. Although, he and Teyla were probably more appropriately dressed – Ronon in his lightweight sleeveless shirt, and Teyla in a loose cotton blouse. The Kevlar tac vests did not allow good air flow to back or front. After less than a minute his black tee shirt already clung uncomfortably to his back in the high humidity.

After exiting the event horizon and getting a good look at the large tropical island the gate was on, they cruised high over cerulean waters. The large island rose from sandy white beaches lines with trees similar to a palm tree, to a tall volcano cone, very similar to the Hawaiian islands on Earth. The stargate and DHD was perched on an outcrop overlooking a natural bay. Lava had flowed down around the outcrop, surprisingly not touching the gate. A wide, heavily used trail led up to the gate from a large pier extending out into the deeper water of the bay. No ships or activity were visible. An archipelago curved south from the main island, evidence of recent volcanic activity sluggishly moving on several, sending up columns of white steam when it hit the water.

As they flew west, several other island chains flashed by beneath them, a couple of the larger isles supporting small villages. Large ships were also spotted, white, red, or black sails billowing in the wind. A larger land mass hove into view, still an island, but more on the scale of New Zealand.

"That must be it," Teyla said as she pointed out the front window. "Logan said it was about fifty klicks straight west of the gate."

A large town perched on the slopes of a short mountain range, flowing down to the large, nearly perfect half-circle harbor in leveled terraces. Squared-off fields were visible on the other side of the ridge above the town. Many ships, large and small, crowded the harbor, some even standing out farther beyond the protective arms of land encircling the area. Smaller skiffs and cutters darted around the bay, putting in to unload or load cargo, or ferrying crew back and forth to shore.

"The whole planet is like this?" Rodney had been surprisingly quiet the entire trip and now leaned forward to see better. "How do they even have profitable trade with other planets? The stargate is so remote."

John looked back at him briefly, wondering why his data pad sat untouched on his lap. The scientist still looked beat, and he was suddenly worried. Yes, Rodney had said he had worked through the night, but that was nothing new. And nothing a gallon of strong coffee wouldn't fix. John would have Keller take a look at his teammate when they got back, kicking and screaming if need be.

"I do not know," Teyla answered. "Like I said earlier, I have never been here myself. I have only heard of it secondhand." She sat back in her seat, sighing heavily.

John shot her a concerned look, his worry for Rodney pushed to the background. "Hey, you okay?"

She gave him small, grateful smile. "I am fine. I am still getting used to carrying a weight in front of me." She rubbed her stomach as she looked out front again. "Dr. Keller says it is a little difficult for some women to get used to a different center of gravity." An amused smile played on her lips. "It is most…interesting when running through exercises with my bantos rods."

"Yeah, I can imagine." John grimaced and turned back to the controls.

They had parked the jumper about a half-mile away from the outskirts of town, cloaking it to avoid any unwanted looky-loos. It was when the rear hatch was opened and they trooped out into the sickly-sweet smelling, humid air that Rodney roused from his solemnance and started whining.

Lush, verdant growth spilled everywhere, muting the bright sunlight. John had managed to land them in a relatively open area, the jumper crushing the tall grass, releasing a sharp scent not unlike catnip. A wall of flourishing emerald started a mere meter away. Ronon pushed past John after the eye rolling and drew a large knife. He proceeded to hack at the vines and small bushes that blocked their path.

"Will you be okay walking in this heat?" John turned to Teyla. He didn't want to come across as overprotective, but all the same he was still worried about her. Although this technically wasn't a "mission," there was still the high potential for it to go wrong.

"I will be fine, John." A tight smile drew her lips in. She walked past him and followed the path Ronon had cut.

The big runner was no longer in sight and Rodney was still muttering under his breath as he followed Teyla. John made sure the remote for the jumper was secure in a vest pocket, took a look around the clearing, hoped no one really looked too closely at the jumper-shaped outline in the smushed grass, adjusted his P-90 to hang more comfortably, and moved out.

He caught up with Rodney a minute later. "Hey buddy, everything all right?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" Rodney shot him a disgruntled look and kept walking.

John shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, you've been awfully quiet, and acting…different. Not yourself. That's all."

"As mentioned before, I didn't get any sleep last night. Then you drag us on a people hunting mission half-way across the galaxy in excruciating heat and humidity, which, sad to say, and in case you didn't notice, I don't do too well in."

"I know for a fact you've pulled all-nighters before, and went on a mission the next morning with no complaint. What's up?"

"Maybe it's because it's been a couple of weeks since I've had a solid nights sleep, since, oh I don't know, someone decided to reroute the water supply and fried a good number of conduits in the process."

"McKay." John tilted his head and gave the scientist his "knock it off' look.

Rodney kept walking, keeping his eyes firmly focused on trail ahead.

"McKay!" John grabbed him by the back of his vest, stopping and turning him back. They faced each other, John tall and frustrated and Rodney nearly cowering. John's irritation abated a little at the unhappy look on his friends face. "Look," he began gently. "I need to know what's going on with you. Whatever this is, it's affecting your work and concentration, and I can't have that, especially when we're on a mission."

"It's not affecting my work," he replied sullenly, not meeting John's eyes.

"It is," John insisted. He waited for a moment for Rodney to gather something – whether it was his pride or just getting up the nerve.

"I broke it off with Katie."

John's lips formed a silent "Oh," and raised his eyebrows in encouragement to continue.

"But that's not why I'm upset." He paused and sighed, the corner of his mouth drooping even lower.

"Well, I wouldn't say upset…" John quirked his mouth upward in an attempt at humor.

"Oh god, this is…this is completely not right. I shouldn't even be telling you this." Rodney attempted to walk off again, but John stepped in his way. "After being in that room…"

"When we were all stuck in a room for hours on end?"

Rodney shot him a sour look. "It was mutual, but I…"

"Yes?" There were those raised eyebrows again.

"I'm upset because I'm not upset."

"What? That doesn't even make sense, McKay."

Rodney sighed in frustration and crossed his arms. "Look, you won't understand anyway, so just leave it."

"No, I'm not going to leave it. Explain what you just said."

"Fine. You want an explanation. Well here it is." He paused, eyes narrowed. "I'm not at all distressed over the fact that we broke up and that unnerves me more than anything." He ran a hand through his short hair, the sweat making it stand straight up. "I mean, I was dating her for two years and was planning on asking her to marry me." His voice went high and incredulous. "What kind of a man am I that I wouldn't feel anything over the prospect of losing her?"

Ah, thought John. There it is. "Rodney, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I think she feels pretty much the same."

"What? How do you know?"

"Look, I'm sure you were probably just having a moment of fear from the possibility of being alone for the rest of your life. Lot's of people get that feeling, I'm sure. I did, and believe me, it didn't turn out too well."

Rodney looked thoughtful for a moment and "Hmmph'd."

"'Sides, you'll never be alone. Not in the Pegasus galaxy. You've got family right here." John buffeted him on the arm and grinned.

"Really?" Rodney's mouth quirked up in a small half-smile.

At that moment Ronon and Teyla came back.

"What's taking you so long?" Sweat slid down Ronon's face as he sheathed his now green stained knife.

John smiled calmly. "Sorry guys, we were just having a heart to heart."

"We got almost to the town. The jungle opens up not too far in." Ronon gestured back the way they came. "Easier to walk."

John followed the gesture with his eyes and noticed Teyla. She was pale and sweaty, and as she reached up to push the damp hair off her brow, he noticed her arm shaking slightly.

"Teyla, why don't you go back to the jumper? We'll handle this." He walked up to her, and took her arm in support.

She smiled gratefully at him, and closed her eyes briefly, breathing deep. A graceful hand curved under her belly, supporting the weight. "Yes, I will wait in the jumper."

John's worry for her increased. He expected argument, not this willing compliance. "Okay, that's it. We're going back, you need to see Dr. Keller."

"No!" She straightened up and glared at him. "I need to see this through. This man knows where my people are." She grasped his arm, trying to impart her fervor. "I will wait in the jumper. That is as far as I am going." She set her lips mulishly.

John raised his chin and glanced away, first meeting Ronon's look of "you're on your own," then seeing Rodney's "I don't care one way or the other" shrug. John set his own lips as he met her eyes again. It was suddenly a clash of wills, and he decided to back down. This time. What could happen in the hour, max, that they would be gone?

"Fine, but if I find you were out tramping about…"

She smiled gently. "I will stay in the jumper and won't move an inch."

"Not an inch – I got your word on that?"

She refused to answer that, and started walking back to the transport. The three men followed her silently. Once back, John walked up the ramp with her.

"So what was the guy's name we're looking for?"

"His name is Madesh and he works at the tavern with the sign of the Taimarian Bull."

"The what?"

"Taimarian bulls look something like a cross between a pig and a horse, with horns." She settled herself onto one of the bench seats, legs straight out, and leaned back, closing her eyes briefly.

She opened them when a long moment later she hadn't heard him leave. He was still standing in the hatchway, looking at her with that look of resignation mixed with anger. "John, I will be fine. The heat is taking more out of me than I expected, that is all." She nodded to reassure him, holding his eyes.

He nodded slowly back, pursing his lips. "Keep your radio on, and we'll be back as soon as we can." He left the jumper, and jerking his head at Rodney and Ronon to follow, set off at a fast clip.

Less than ten minutes later they stood on a ridge overlooking the town and harbor. Up at the top level of terraces were larger, walled dwellings. Most were built out of a white stone, reflecting the sun. A well-traveled roadway started not to far from their present position. It led down to the harbor in smooth switchbacks, the housing becoming increasingly less affluent the farther down they traveled. There was also a marked increase in the amount of people on the road – men and women carrying loads of goods, boys driving small herds of what looked like goats, merchants hawking wares by the side of the road.

Housing gave way abruptly to businesses on the last terrace before sea-level. The tops of masts were visible above the roofs, a veritable forest of leafless, skinny, rope-draped trees. The noise level increased as they passed through a market place. Stores on either side of the road had opened their fronts so their goods were accessible to passers by. Affluent clients mixed with vendors mixed with the obviously destitute. Interspersed with the shops were eateries, taverns, and butchers. Rodney held his nose and looked sick as they passed the odiferous entrance to the latter.

Ronon looked at him in irritation. "Don't you have butchers on Earth?"

"Yes, but they are far away from the cities. Far, far away." He clutched his tablet computer to his chest tighter. "So far you don't even smell them."

Ronon shot a confused look at John. "Okay."

"What he means is a lot of the industry on our planet is separated by many miles from the housing and entertainment areas. Now, anyway. I'm sure a lot of towns a couple hundred years ago were like this, though." John wrinkled his own nose in thought.

"Sateda was like that, too." Ronon looked at the sky to the west. "It's nearly sunset. We should look for this place and get back before it gets dark."

"I agree." John stood on tiptoes and looked over the heads of the group of men in front of them. "Either of you see a tavern?"

"Uh, there're quite a few, in case you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, thanks, Rodney." He scanned the closer buildings. "Teyla said it was the sign of the Taimarian bull."

"The what?"

"Taimarian bull," Ronon answered, amused. "It looks like a cross between a pig and a…"

A memory hit John suddenly. "You mean that ugly ass creature we encountered while looking for an Beta site last year? The one that stunk to high heaven and kept tracking us?"

"Yup."

"Who in their right mind would use that as a mascot for a bar?" Rodney was frankly amazed.

"All right, I don't see it." John sighed and looked around for a friendly looking merchant. "We're gonna have to ask for directions."

"Do what?" Rodney asked, incredulous.

"Like you've never had to ask for directions before, McKay?"

No, never."

John rolled his eyes and approached a middle-aged, balding man selling an assortment of knives and other weaponry. He put in his best "meet and greet the locals" smile. "Hi there. We're looking for a tavern owned by a man named Madesh. We were told it is the sign of the Taimarian bull."

The merchant took in John's own assortment of weapons, and glanced at McKay and Ronon. His gaze lingered on Ronon, settling on the gun at his hip. John glanced back to see what had captured the weapon vendor's gaze. His teammate was fingering the gun in a way that had John shaking his head slightly in warning to the tall Runner. Ronon raised an eyebrow in question, but let his hand relax away from the weapon.

The merchant looked back to John. "I don't know about this Madesh you are asking about but there is such a tavern." He glanced at Rodney, taking in the pale hands and well-fleshed face. "I would not go there, though. It is not a…reputable establishment."

"We can handle ourselves. The location?"

"Go south along the terrace." He pointed back the way they'd come. "That place is near the end of the fourth alley toward the harbor."

John glanced along the way they'd be going, then back to the merchant. "Thank you for your time." He jerked his head at the other two. "Let's go."

"I would not go there," the merchant warned again. "It has a reputation of being the haunt of bandits and pirates."

John and Ronon were already a few paces along when what the vendor said sank into Rodney's brain. He stopped walking, almost causing a woman with a cart to run into him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa – bandits does not sound good. I mean, were not technically on a mission here, so we're not really prepared for…hey, guys, shouldn't we think this through, or something?"

John walked back and dragged Rodney along behind him for a few steps by his vest. "We can handle it, McKay. Come on."

Even though the crowds had thinned out a little, it was still after sunset when they reached the right alleyway. It was barely wide enough for one person to walk abreast down it, and the smell of rotted garbage mixed with something unnamable wafted up to them. John looked down into the dark, foul smelling hole, and began having second thoughts.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. He reseated his P-90, surreptitiously clicking the safety off. He took a look behind him on the pretense of checking on Rodney. No one was obviously watching them, and the few people still out and about scurried quickly to get back home.

Ronon casually lifted his gun out of its holster. The fact that he didn't immediately hold it up told John a lot. He moved closer, keeping an eye on Rodney, who was staring at the entrance to the alleyway as if a monster was suddenly going to jump out and get him.

"So, someone's trailing us?" He kept his voice low. No use advertising that they knew.

"Three. One of 'em since we hit the road."

John grunted in acknowledgment. "They'll be as handicapped as we are in there," and he jerked his chin to the dark alley. "I'll take point, Ronon, you take our six." He pulled Rodney into position behind him. "Move out."

They walked slowly into the alley single file, John clicking on the light atop his gun. The beam illuminated piles of refuse, and a stream of open sewage sliding down the middle toward the harbor. He stepped to the side to avoid it.

"Okay, tell me again why we're doing this?" Rodney's voice was high with anxiety, and extremely nasally. John glanced back and saw the scientist holding his nose with the same hand holding his data pad. The other held his P-90 at chest level.

"We're doing this for Teyla," John answered curtly, turning back to face front.

After two slow minutes of creeping along, a light at the end of the alley grew close enough to light the way. It emanated from a lantern set atop a large sign carved with an animal that looked like a cross between a pig and a horse with horns. A wooden door with an ornate knocker was below the sign. Raucous music and loud voices came from within.

"Yep, that beast does look familiar." John turned to Ronon, a question in his eyes.

"No one followed." He paused then added, "Yet."

The smell of food reached them, not quite overpowering the stench outside, but enough to have Rodney reaching for the door handle.

"Wait a minute, McKay, let me go first." John shouldered Rodney aside and threw open the door.

The smell of food and alcohol hit them first, followed by the sheer noise of the place. It took a moment for John's senses to adjust, and as he scanned the room his eyes lit on several men dressed in baggy shirts laced at the neck and tall leather boots folded down at the knee. All of them had long swords hanging from their waists along with a selection of knives. A group huddled near the back wall was gambling in some sort of card game, and blousy, over-endowed women circulated through the crowds offering drink, food, and…other entertainment.

Rodney stumbled into John as two men near the door suddenly exchanged punches leading to a near free-for-all that spilled out into the alley as John jerked his head at the other two to follow him. He made his way to the bar, threading through tables that looked as if they hadn't been cleaned in who knows how long. He was suddenly very glad Teyla stayed at the jumper.

As if his thought of her triggered it, his radio activated. "John, this is Teyla, please come in."

He clicked the button on his ear piece. "Go ahead, Teyla. What's up? Everything okay?"

"Yes, I am merely concerned for you and the others. It is night, and you haven't come back yet. Colonel Carter will be dialing in soon."

"Yeah, I know, Teyla. Sorry about this. Took a little longer to get to the place than I'd hoped. We're here now."

She started to speak, until a sudden hitch in her breath stopped her. John heard a deep breath over the radio, and he drew in his lips in as he realized she was trying not to get emotional. "Any…any word on my people?"

"I haven't been able to get to the bar yet. As you can hear it's pretty busy. Must be a game on," he joked. When she didn't reply right away, he added, "We'll call you as soon as we know anything and are on our way back. Sheppard out."

They reached the bar and addressed the man behind it. He was skinny and short, and looked (and smelled) as if he didn't know what bathwater was. A woman was helping him, just as skinny, shorter, just as dirty. Her age could have been anywhere from twenty-five to fifty.

"We're looking for a man called Madesh. We heard he might have some information for us."

The man looked John up and down, his gaze settling on the gun prominent on John's chest. "There ain't no-one here by that name." He calmly went back to wiping out the short dirty glasses lined up in front of him.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - This chapter is a little shorter than the first, but I'm hoping that the action-packedness of it will satisfy. The first chapter was mainly to set the scene. Now comes the good part!!_

Chapter 2

"Excuse me?" John thought he hadn't heard right through the noise behind him.

"You heard me," the bartender replied rudely. "Never heard of 'im." He turned his back on the trio. A hand on his shoulder pulled him back around.

"Hey, you want to try and clean out your memory?" Ronon was suddenly in the man's face, his gun still in hand.

"Listen, I can't remember what I don't know."

Ronon reached out and grabbed a fistful of the bartender's shirt. As he yanked him closer, almost over the top of the wooden bar, the woman behind him let out a short scream. John and Ronon froze as the noise behind them suddenly ceased. Rodney nudged closer to the bar as if that would save him from what was about to happen.

The scraping of chair legs on the rough floor energized John to turn around quickly. Almost every occupant of the place was on his feet, advancing toward them. "Ronon, let him go," he said low. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender stumble back, clutching his neck. Ronon turned to face the room, though still keeping an eye on the skinny man he'd been assaulting.

John kept his hands out away from his body, the P-90 swinging free at his chest. "Look, we were just looking for some information. We didn't get what we were hoping for, but it answers our question." He tried for a gamine smile. "We'll get out of your hair and never return."

The advancing crowd didn't blink. Knives and swords slowly appeared, turning the crowd into a veritable inside-out pincushion. Some of the characters were actually growling, showing off missing and brown teeth.

John grabbed his P-90, unhooking it from his vest in a smooth motion. "We will defend ourselves." His voice was hard as they continued the slow advancing. A motion to his right sent that hand down to bring his sidearm up and out. It touched the forehead of a scraggly brute who'd been trying to come up beside him. John pushed on it, denting the skin. "Back off," he growled. The man backed up slightly.

"What do you want to do?" Ronon had his gun up and aimed at a hulking bruiser, taller than the Satedan. Long stringy hair bounced in time to his evil cackling. A patch covered one eye socket.

"Set for stun. Aim for their feet or above their heads. Scare only…for right now." John took a step forward, eyes narrowed. "You don't want to be on the receiving end of these." He raised his voice so those in the back could hear.

"Ye're gonna regret ever coming here, landlubber," a foul, older (at least John assumed he was older) geezer rasped.

"I think we already do, but thanks for the sentiment." John took another step, Ronon right beside him. He was now within range of some of their weapons. They weren't backing down. He tilted the P-90 upward and squeezed the trigger. Bullets sent wood chips and dust flying as they impacted with the beams above. A woman screamed, shrill and loud in the following silence.

Ronon's fist suddenly shot out to the left, getting a guy sneaking up on his side. It was the skinny bartender, probably trying to get some back against the bigger man. John winced at the sound of crunching tissue and knew the nose was broken even before a muffled moan came from the barkeep. John felt something pressing on his back and looked quickly behind him, only to see Rodney crowding his heels. To the scientist's credit, he did have his gun up and aimed between his two teammates to the crowd before them.

"Get back, McKay," John hissed while focusing back on the main threat. They had not advanced, but they had not backed up either. If anything, the threatening looks only deepened. "Nice standoff," he muttered to himself. He raised his voice. "Listen up, we're leaving one way or another. We really don't care at this point how many bodies we leave behind." So much for trade negotiations, he thought.

"Go ahead and try."

John flicked the gun from burst to single shot. He took out the latest speaker's knee. That must have been the signal as all of them let forth a mighty roar and surged forward. Ronon's gun erupted again and again with the familiar red glow. John smoothly switched his P-90 back to burst firing mode. He took out a couple of men in large hats directly in front of him, while with his sidearm he fired a few successive shots at a group of three trying to outflank him.

Step by step they cleared a path to the door, John and Ronon swiveling every so often to make sure no one was going to attack them from behind. It seemed once the bar's populace went down, they stayed down. Once the door was reached, neither John nor Ronon bothered turning around again. They burst out into the fetid darkness, and slammed the door shut. John leaned heavily against it then straightened as something registered.

"Where's McKay?" He hadn't seen the scientist since just before the shooting began.

A change of air pressure at his neck was his only warning before a blinding pain caused his knees to buckle and his vision to grey out.

OOOooooOOO

John came to with a start. He inhaled against the spinning pain in his head then wished he hadn't as a whiff of incredible foulness intruded on his senses. His whole face scrunched up in an effort to avoid the stench. His other sensory functions came back online slowly.

He was lying face up on a pile of…something. His face wasn't covered, but as he brought a hand up to rub his eyes it encountered a pile of what felt like squishy leaves covering the rest of his body. His hearing picked up very little other than a soft susurrus like wind through aspen trees. He wasn't about to stick his tongue out and get a possible taste of that stench, which left only sight.

He cracked open his eyes slowly, not knowing what to expect. He blinked a couple of time when his eyes registered nothing but darkness. He turned his head trying to see more, biting his tongue against a flare of pain along the side of his neck. He struggled to recall what happened and where he might be. Based on the overwhelming smell he was probably still in the alley, but that didn't explain the foul covering. The last thing he remembered was coming out of the bar. A sound to his left had him tensing and searching for his firearm under the muck covering him.

"Sheppard?" Ronon's voice was barely a whisper.

If it hadn't been so quiet, John wouldn't have heard it. He relaxed and let his head fall back to the cushioning beneath him. "Ronon," he croaked quietly. "What happened?"

The larger man moved forward silently, and John realized that the sound he'd heard earlier had been intentional. A darker arm-shaped shadow was in front of his face and he grasped the proffered hand. He stifled a groan as the movement started his head spinning again. He leaned over bracing his hands on his knees.

"We were attacked."

"No kidding." He shot a glare at Ronon even though he knew the other man couldn't see it. He straightened up slowly. "Can you be a little more specific?" He paused, turning his head to either side. "Where's Rodney?"

"As soon as we came out of the tavern, we were attacked. They got the drop on you from behind."

"Got the drop on?" Sheppard asked in amazement. "Who've you been talking to? Lorne?" When Ronon was silent, John waved his hand for him to continue. Then he remembered it was dark. "Sorry, go on. I was hit from behind," he prompted.

"It was the three shadows from before. They were waiting for us to come back out." He paused as if thinking. "I know I got two, but the third one slipped away. I hid you here, and tracked him down to the harbor." Another pause. "I lost him among the docks."

"You sound disappointed."

"He was the one who hit you." Venom dripped from the Satedan's words.

"Oh." John blinked a couple times to clear his vision. Still no lightening of the deep gloom. "Thanks." He paused, and when Ronon wasn't forthcoming, he added, "What happened to Rodney?"

Ronon cleared his throat. "He, uh, I don't think he made it out of the tavern."

"What are you saying?" John's voice was suddenly hard. "That he's dead?"

"No, no, not that," Ronon amended quickly. "I think he got nabbed."

"By who?"

There was a rustle of cloth and John could picture his friend shrugging. "They didn't aim anything at him, only us. Last I saw he was right behind you, just before the shooting started. I didn't see him after that." He paused, inhaling deeply. "I think I heard him shout something like…'I dropped my pad'…just before we got to the door."

John closed his eyes and groaned softly. Of course, Rodney's first concern would be for his precious computer. He slid a hand down his shirt to straighten it and encountered a slimy substance. It seemed to be on his back and pants, too. Slowly he held the hand up to his face and sniffed gingerly. His neck spasmed again as his head jerked away from the smell. "Uh, Ronon, did you have to cover me with garbage?"

Another shushing of cloth. "Sorry, Sheppard. Nothing else was available. Didn't want anyone else to find you while you were out."

"Yeah, okay." He paused. "This time." He checked his P-90, his 9mm sitting in its thigh holster, and his radio, including ear-piece. All accounted for. "Okay, we gotta get back to the jumper. Teyla's probably worried sick, and Atlantis has no doubt sent a search and rescue team by now." He made to move out and realized he couldn't see squat in the darkness. "We'll search for McKay's locator beacon with the jumper sensors. After you."

Ronon grunted and moved off. John was yet again amazed at the larger man's ability to move with nary a sound. The headache in his temples spiked as he strained his eyes to follow. Finally, he just relaxed, closed his eyes and stood still for a moment. When he opened them again, he didn't strain to see, only felt with instincts honed in an enemy desert.

In a few minutes, a dim light led them the rest of the way back to the main road. It was quiet, the byway lit by only a few lanterns here and there, set up on poles. His eyes darted to a shadowy figure on the other side of the street, scurrying away from them. A fresh breeze blew off the water, cooling his heated face and clearing his head a little.

They headed back up the ridge. As they got above the main housing district, away from any street lamps, a soft white light fell on them from several different directions, casting weirdly distorted shadows. John looked up to see not one or two, but three good sized moons high in the sky. All appeared to be full or nearly so.

Ronon also glanced up. "I've heard that a triple full moon is not a good omen."

"Since when do you care about superstition?"

He shrugged. "Just sayin'."

As soon as they cleared the ridge, they double-timed it back to the jumper, dodging around leafy obstacles clearly visible in the ghostly light.

"Teyla?" John raised his voice above a whisper. "Teyla?"

They reached the cloaked craft, finding the hatch still down and the inside trashed as if someone was looking for something. Or someone had fought hard against would be captors.

John's mouth tightened into a grim line. He keyed his radio and turned back to face the jungle. "Teyla? Come in, Teyla." He breathed deep against the serious need to do violence. "Teyla? Please respond!" He clenched his fists. No response.

Ronon suddenly roared and kicked viciously at an opened box of emergency supplies. It went careening off into the dark grass, spilling the remaining contents in a wide wake.

"How long was I out?" John asked after he had reigned in some of the frustration and anger coursing through him.

Ronon paused in searching the ground for tracks. He lifted his leonine head and thought for a moment. "Probably a good four to five hours."

John winced. "That long, huh?" His bottom lip suffered several hard chews before he answered again. "And your radio didn't activate?" Ronon shook his head. John sighed. "Okay, let's get airborne and see what pops up on the sensors. We also need to contact Atlantis and let them know what's going on."

They both climbed in and John closed the back hatch as he moved forward. In moments the jumper was climbing to cruising height and arrowing over the quiet harbor.

OOOooooOOO

John took them into orbit first, not even activating the HUD sensors until they were above the atmosphere. He held his breath as the computer took its sweet time looking, then let it out in a huff as two dots started blinking on the screen. Both were in the same general area on the planet below, although one looked to be nearer the stargate.

"We'll get this one first," John said as he pointed to the other one. "Less time getting back to the gate if one of 'em is hurt."

Ronon merely grunted in reply, looking out the view screen at the planet below. The sun was just cresting the horizon, sending bright streamers of light their way. The surface below was still in darkness. "Teyla was right. There's a lot of ocean down there."

John craned his neck to see below. "Yeah, bet there're some sweet surfing spots." Then he scratched viciously at his cheek where drying slime was pulling his skin. "Dude, did you have to stick me in garbage?" The stink clung to every surface of the jumper, coating the inside of his nose and mouth.

Ronon looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Turning back to the glass he pointed down. "There's a larger mass there. Almost like a mainland."

"You're right." With a thought he refocused the HUD. It showed a larger land mass about the size and shape of Greenland. It was farther north of where they'd been, but not out of reach of sailing ships. "Oh, this is interesting. There's an energy signature down there."

Ronon grunted and shifted to see better. A red dot blinked on and off, indicating the presence of some sort of power source on the southern-most tip of the landmass.

"We'll check it out if there's time." John glanced at the other man conspiratorially. "Don't tell Rodney, ok? Not until we know that we can take time to check it out." He addressed the console in front of him. "Let's go get our team."

On the way back down from orbit, John took a detour by the island the stargate was on. He tried dialing several times, but got no connection confirmation. He frowned over that for a moment then decided to leave it.

"Rodney can fix it when we get back here," he said as he took the jumper out of the circling mode he'd put it in.

Sunrise saw them cruising high above the water, closing in on the farthest locator beacon. There was no way to differentiate between signals, but the fact that they picked up two beacons went a long way to reassuring John. He refused to dwell on the "what ifs."

"Why can't you tell which is which?" Ronon slouched in the co-pilots seat, flipping a knife from hand to hand with a loud smack that just seemed to get louder each time.

"Will you stop that, please?" John shot him an annoyed look. "You're making my head ache worse."

Ronon held up the ornately carved knife, the blade gleaming silver in the new light. He raised his eyebrows in query.

"Yeah, that." John took a deep breath and focused on the question. "All the frequencies are the same. He thought for a moment before adding, "I think the frequencies are different for other crews, such as the Daedalus. Not much, but enough for our sensors to tell the difference."

Ronon just grunted and put the knife away. "I hate waiting," he growled.

"I know." John shot him an understanding smile. "I think you'll have a chance for some action real soon. Both signals are coming from open ocean."

"So, a ship?"

"More'n likely." He pointed out the screen. "See…that spot there. Looks like its got black sails." Perfect for night sailing, he thought, but hell to hide in the early morning light.

Long dreds swung forward as Ronon sat up straight, focusing on the craft ahead. He noted a small chain of islands off in the distance, a mountain peak breaking above the pearly mist.

In a couple more minutes the jumper was off the stern of the ship, about a hundreds yards away and fifty yards above the surface of the water. Both John and Ronon were now leaning forward, eyes narrowed as they searched the deck for a glimpse of Rodney. Activity surged on the deck, blurring individual figures. Neither were familiar with sailing craft, so were unaware of what was happening below.

John's hand searched unsuccessfully for his spyglass. He was also trying to figure a way to land on the small confines of the deck with out smashing too many sailors or knock over any masting or rigging. The highest part of the stern looked to be the most promising area if he could avoid the wheel. If he did land it there, the front would be hanging over the edge and he would knock over some railing. Although, why he was caring about not damaging the ship, he had no idea. A large, dark haired figure dressed in a gray uniform was pacing back and forth on said deck, shouting at the men below. John felt a brief sense of familiarity.

"Uh, Sheppard," Ronon warned.

John looked at him then followed his pointing arm to the side of the ship. "Oh crap!" He jerked the controls to one side, but it was too late.

During John's brief moment of musing, a black cannon muzzle had been propped on a reinforced section of railing. All activity on board ceased just before a muted thump reached the occupants of the jumper followed by a puff of smoke from the ship. The jumper jerked to the side, one of the drive pods a smoking mess.

As pilot, John suddenly had his hands full trying to pull the small craft's nose up. They veered off course, fortunately headed for the near-by islands. A loud whining and the scent of burning insulation filled the small cabin. Massive shudders rocked the jumper back and forth as the one remaining engine strove to compensate for the loss of the other.

"We're going down," John grated out. He sat back in his seat as much as possible and braced his legs on either side of the space beneath the console. The front of the craft was barely a foot above the limpid waves curling up on shore, sagging on the side with out a drive pod.

Ronon had already braced his knees against the dash in front of him. The jumper gave one final whining groan and dyed. The nose dipped, forward motion arrested as the jumper gouged a deep furrow in the gleaming white sand of the nearest beach.

OOOooooOOO

"Anything?"

"Sorry, ma'am, no one's responding." Chuck looked up at Colonel Carter, the expression on his face matching the worried one on hers.

Her arms were crossed over her chest and she tapped the fingers of one hand on the other elbow. She sighed and reached up to key her ear-piece. "Major Lorne?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"We haven't heard from John's team in well over four hours and they're not responding to radio. They thought it would be a two hour mission, tops." She paused, knowing he knew what was coming. "Think you can get a team together?"

"No problem, Colonel. Got one already in the jumper bay. I'm on my way there now."

Sam frowned at the amusement in his voice. It really wasn't funny that they were always rescuing Sheppard and his team from one mishap or another, enough that they anticipated it. However, something was nagging her, an instinct she'd learned not to ignore through her years at the SGC. "Lorne, ask Dr. Keller to go along. Teyla or the others might need some medical assistance."

There was a pause at the other end before Evan replied with a dutiful, "Yes, ma'am."

Fifteen minutes later she was still in the control tower as Lorne's jumper descended into the gate room, the blue event horizon glowing on the gray panels. They passed into the ring and seconds later it shut off.

"I'll be in my office," she said to the room at large.

She'd sat down at her desk and flipped her laptop screen up when the gate activated.

"Unscheduled off-world activation," Chuck hollered.

What now, Sam thought as she rose to her feet and left her office.

"Colonel, I have a radio message incoming from Major Lorne."

"Thanks, Chuck." She activated her radio. "What is it, Major?"

"Well, there's no physical sign of them, but I am picking up four locator beacons. They must have been separated as the signals are scattered all over the…Oh, shit! Incoming!"

A loud roar broke up the radio signal and Sam almost tore the receiver from her ear. "Major?" A pause in which static filled the other end of the connection. "Major Lorne, do you copy?"

Suddenly the gate shut down, leaving a strained silence in the room.

"Dial the planet again."

Chuck was already ahead of her, dialing with rapid precision. He tried three times until finally he looked up at her. "I'm sorry, it won't connect."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Rodney nudged closer to the bar as the room behind them went deadly silent. He felt the blood leave his face as the sound of chair legs scraping on the rough floor reached his ears. His eyes stared straight ahead, not focusing on anything. He heard John tell Ronon to let the bartender go. At his team leader's calm voice, Rodney allowed himself to relax a little, enough to sneak a look at the room behind him. Oh God, not a good idea, he thought and swallowed convulsively at the menacing crowd of…er, "bandits" was a good term.

Sheppard tried to placate them, but sharp pointy objects were slowly appearing in the mob's hands as they advanced step by step toward the trio at the bar. Rodney clutched his datapad closer to him and raised the P-90 clipped to his vest with the other. He frowned at the tip of it, which wavered and shook slightly. He wasn't afraid, dammit, just…slightly nervous.

Without him even noticing, both Sheppard and Ronon were a step forward, away from the bar. And away from Rodney. He suddenly felt exposed and glanced around to make sure there were no bruisers ready to pounce on him. Something brushed his left arm and his head whipped to the side. The bartender was sneaking around the side of the bar, creeping up on Ronon. They both crouched instinctively as John let loose a burst of gunfire.

The bartender kept moving up on the tall Satedan. Rodney wasn't even aware that Ronon had seen him, yet his fist came streaking out and got the guy smack dab in the shnozzer. Blood spurted and cartilage crunched, and Rodney winced in reaction. He realized that he was all alone at the bar now, a perfect target for anyone desiring to take him down. Two quick steps brought him almost even with the other two, his gun pointed between them.

Sheppard's head whipped around to pin him with a glare. "Get back, McKay", he hissed, before turning back to face the savages in front of them. "Listen up, we're leaving one way or the other. We really don't care at this point how many bodies we leave behind," he added after muttering something else to himself.

"Go ahead and try."

Rodney's hold loosened on both his gun and computer at the savage tone. The speaker was a short native with fuzzy red hair and a stringy beard. Beer, or something, had left a large brown stain down the front of his shirt. A single shot from Sheppard had the mob surging forward en masse. Rodney hunched his shoulders, trying to protect his neck and ears, at the same time bringing both hands to bear on the P-90, his only source of protection. Other than the two military men in front of him, of course. They cleared a path to the door in less time than Rodney could've recited the first line of the periodic table of elements.

The scene in front of him degenerated into a howling, chaotic mass of bodies as Sheppard and Ronon took out anyone in their path. It was all he could do to keep up and duck anytime they swiveled to get someone behind them. They were almost to the door, in fact Ronon had already grasped the handle, when Rodney realized he didn't have his computer.

He spared a look behind him, and saw it lying abandoned in the middle of the dusty floor, surrounded by shot up and groaning thugs. "I dropped my datapad," he shouted, trying to be heard above the noise. "Don't leave without me."

Rodney swung around, darting back to where his computer lay, bending down to retrieve it. Less than thirty seconds had passed, but when he straightened back up intending to hightail it back to the entry, both John and Ronon had gone. He was surrounded by evil, smelly brigands.

Who realized that he was now alone and relatively harmless. Rodney froze, his hand clasping the tablet tight enough to whiten knuckles. His eyes widened and his head inched down between his shoulders. The unhurt or superficially wounded men started closing in around him, horrible grins cracking their filthy faces.

A voice off to the right stopped the movement of the men closest to the scientist. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Dr. McKay."

Before Rodney could comprehend that he recognized the deep voice, a pain exploded in the back of his head and before he lost total consciousness, he felt his paralyzed body keel over like a two by four, the floor coming up to meet his nose as if in slow motion.

OOOooooOOO

Sound intruded on his comatose brain, coalescing into a pounding that did nothing for the spikes embedded in his temples. Subtle movement created havoc in his stomach forcing Rodney to breathe deeply. The much-needed oxygen cleared his mind a little, but really didn't do anything for the head agony or nausea.

He tried to remember what happened but the last thing he could recall was going back for the computer on the floor of the bar. Pain spiked in his temples again, pulling a groan from his throat as he brought his hands up to massage the pain away. Hopefully. He opened his eyes reluctantly when a clinking sound was heard and the kiss of cold metal touched his chin.

Manacles? Manacles, he thought. Who on earth, or the Pegasus galaxy, would put him, Dr. Rodney McKay, in chains? He groaned again as he let his hands fall, the weight of the chains pulling them down. Not only was he chained he was chained with rusted iron, not good clean steel. Oh God, I hope I don't have any cuts on my wrists, he thought miserably. The thought of possible lead poisoning or the need for a tetanus shot was not comforting.

Before he could form any other opinion of his location, a sudden swoop of the small room threw him from the bed he was on. He landed on a wet, mildew smelling, hard surface. Water dripped somewhere close by, and before he could get his scrambled brains back together, the room tilted again and he rolled to the other side. This happened a couple more times, throwing him against crusty iron bars on one side and damp wood planking on the other.

Finally, the room leveled out, and he was able to get a soaked elbow beneath him and lever himself to a somewhat upright position. He rested his head on the narrow bench he'd woken up on and took a gander at his surroundings.

Fine, I'm in a freaking cell that is leaking water and looks to be oh, so unsanitary, he thought resignedly, jaw set. The room isn't stable, must be earthquakes, and I don't have John Sheppard and his escape-artist hair with me. That doesn't mean I can't get out of here. I just need time to think. Oh, god, it's slimy. Rodney let out a little whimper as the muck soaked through the seat of his pants, chilling tender parts that definitely didn't need bacteria-infested slime anywhere near them.

At that, he hoisted himself onto the crude bench, and braced himself with hands on his knees as the room lurched again. The contents of his stomach made a decisive bid for freedom but he managed to keep it down, barely. It was more a matter of will than biology. The last thing the noisesome cell needed was puke all over the place, adding to the effluvia on the floor.

Now that he had steadied somewhat since waking up, he realized that the lurching of the room was pretty steady, and he could hear a soft, regular shushing sound beneath the plank floor. It reminded him of the soft sound of water lapping at the piers on Atlantis, something you could only hear late at night or in the furthest reaches of the city. Rodney suddenly realized he was probably on a ship, and one that was probably pretty far from where he'd been. That led to memories of how he'd ended up here and he had a momentary cursed thought for Sheppard and Ronon, who'd left him behind.

"Oh, that's not fair," he whispered to himself. He knew, knew without a doubt, that if it was at all possible, even if it was impossible, Sheppard would come get him. "We don't leave our people behind." Speaking of which, he hadn't seen a single living soul since he awoke. There wasn't anybody in the cubby next to his or across the dimly lit way. His throat and tongue let him know that they were in desperate need of water.

Thought led to action and he stood on trembling legs and staggered to the bars. As much as he did not want to touch the crusted things, he needed support against the heaving of the floor and the pounding of his head. He tried to get the sleeve of his jacket to cover as much of his hand as possible. While he was attempting that, he was thrown against the bars then back again. Bringing him back to square one.

All right, he thought from his position on the floor. We'll try that again. This time he managed to get a sleeve up over a cold, pale hand and grasped the bars somewhat gingerly. Taking a deep breath, he hollered down the hall way.

"Hey, hello? Anyone there?" He paused a moment to give them a chance to answer. "Hey, I'm a little thirsty here, and I demand to talk to the management about the accommodations." Still nothing.

Another swoop and Rodney lost his grip on the bars. He went tumbling ass over teakettle and banged the back of his head on the bench. He lay stunned for a moment, blinking to get the stupid butterflies out of his vision. He shook his head and his stomach revolted, unaccustomed to the dizziness now pervading his brain.

He managed to aim the spew toward a corner, but not much else, let alone get back up to a sitting position. "Oh, this is not good," he muttered as the dizziness grew worse. A swarm of buzzing black and red dots closed in, darkening his vision.

A loud boom overhead had him opening his eyes in terror. His heart started pounding away, and it took a moment to realize where he was. He still lay on the floor on his stomach, head turned to the side. He realized that the dampness had soaked into his clothes, leaving him cold and wet. Slime coated his cheek, drying to an itching crust close to the corner of his mouth. Feet scurried by overhead in response to some command. Rodney skimmed the area with his eyes, not trusting either his head or stomach not to rebel at any movement and spotted a small clay bowl just inside the bars.

Okay, maybe for water I can move, he thought muzzily. He lifted his head first, slowly, waiting for the first sign of dizziness or nausea to cease all movement. All right, still good. His hands were beneath him, one hand a numb lump of no circulation. He worked an elbow beneath him, hissing as he found a bruise. How'd that get there? McKay, worry over that later, he told himself.

Centimeter by centimeter he got up into a seated position. The swaying of the room seemed to have stopped for the nonce, but what about when it started up again? As he sat there, he sniffed, trying to clear out his nose. That led to searching for a tissue, and he realized for the first time that his vest was gone. Figures, he grunted. No radio of course, no weapons, they even took the narrow knife he'd taken to wearing strapped to his calf per Ronon's advice.

Finally, the dryness and foul taste in his mouth would not be ignored, so he crawled to the bowl by the door. It was water, though none too fresh, and had a pungent, woody taste to it even as he slurped it down greedily. Rivulets ran down the side of his chin, dripping onto his already wet shirt, as he tried to get as much in his mouth as he could handle.

He lowered the bowl when his ears picked up the sounds of footsteps coming down the hallway, hollow thumps that shivered the boards beneath his feet. Rodney felt sweat break out on his forehead – as much as he was all for getting out, the approaching steps felt like the harbingers of doom. He managed to get to his feet, and shakily he braced himself against the ever so subtle pitch and sway of the room. The bowl was still in his hand, clutched tight in a need for some sort of weapon, pitiful though it may be.

"You there, capt'n wants to see you," growled a filthy, leering sailor. A lank brown ponytail swung with his steps, and crumbs dotted the front of his loose shirt. With every step a ring of keys clanged together, the sound discordant in the small space.

"Yeah, well, it's about time. You know how long I've been waiting here for someone, anyone to get me out?" Rodney paused for breath. "I demand to know what's going on and why am I being held in this...in this hole of a cell."

The sailor clicked his tongue. "Now, now, no need to make a big fuss. You should try thinkin' for a change instead of runnin' your mouth." He grinned, showing off brown and fuzzy stumps for teeth. "You might be coming to the conclusion that you're a prisoner." His eyes widened as he added, "Without any right to be questioning me!"

Rodney's mouth gaped open for a moment before he got enough breath under him to launch another verbal skirmish. "Thinking?" His voice rose an octave. "Thinking? I'll have you know I think all the time. My thinking has save numerous lives on numerous occasions, all to the benefit of humanity. Not that you would know anything about being human. I'm sure the creatures in your hair have more a brain than you do."

"Now, that's not very nice. No call to be insultin' anybody. Now get back." The last was said with more venom, and a fair amount of saliva. Rodney jerked back unwittingly, not wanting to get any disease the lout might be carrying. The key was inserted unwillingly into the large padlock, and with some twisting and prying of the rusted key and lock it finally clicked open.

With another nasty smile the man shoved the door open, catching Rodney in the shoulder. He yelped and rubbed it with a hand. The other one still held the bowl, though not for long as the sailor pulled him forcibly out of the cell by his jacket collar and pushed him into the hall, manacles clinking heavily. He grabbed the bowl from Rodney's hand, throwing it back in the cell. The scientist cringed at the sound of breaking pottery.

Rodney was guided with several hard shoves down the hall to a set of questionably stable stairs. He stumbled up them, grasping the rough rail for balance and getting a splinter for his trouble. Up at the next level, the air was noticeably fresher, and he dragged in a few mouthfuls, clearing his head slightly. They were in a relatively open area, crates and bundles stacked off to the side. Daylight seeped in from above, and Rodney saw blue sky through small cracks in the ceiling overhead.

"Hey, ease up, will you? I'm going as fast as I can." With more rough pushing between his shoulder blades, Rodney was guided to another set of stairs at the far end of the space. As they walked through, light gleamed on the barrels of dark cannon. They lay in wooden cradles, a webbing of ropes clipped to the planking on either side of closed gun ports, encircling the rear of the long barrels.

Trying to get up the next set of stairs with out "help" from his guard earned Rodney another splinter. "Do you know how fast things like these get infected?" he spat.

"Get up there and stop your chatterin'."

Brisk, salty air hit Rodney in the face as his head rose through the hatch. The busy deck of a ship greeted his blinking eyes. It appeared that they emerged near one end, the wider end. He glimpsed blue water on either side of the, to his eyes, relatively narrow vessel. He was shoved again, this time stumbling to one knee.

"Come on, get up!" The sailor was a little rougher this time, almost pulling his shoulder out of the socket.

Probably showing off for his sailor buddies, Rodney thought bitterly as he struggled to get suddenly unstable legs beneath him. "I don't know if you noticed or not, but I'm not exactly used to walking on a surface that sways back and forth." He got up and braced his feet more than shoulder-width apart, leaning over with hands braced on bent knees. The chain between the handcuffs pulled to its full length. He was able to let the motion of the ship somewhat into the stance of his body.

"The capt'n's not a patient man, so I'd best be movin' if I were you."

"Yeah, well, I'm not you." He staggered a couple of steps, still keeping his legs far apart. "Thank God for that."

He looked up suddenly as a low booming noise caught his ear. The big, cream colored sail directly above him had caught the wind, snapping cloth and rope taut enough to sing. The deck surged under him, throwing him off balance again. He was able to keep upright, as another breath of wind filled the rest of the lowered canvas on the other three masts. Several sailors were climbing all over the rigging and spars, making sure that the filling sails were in proper order to take the pressure of the steadily rising wind.

Other men were scattered over the deck and many in a similar mode of dress to his guide but Rodney noticed several in a greeny-gray uniform, with brown trim and buttons. He'd definitely seen those before, and a sudden knot of apprehension clenched in his stomach. They were headed for the back of the ship, to a higher deck that overlooked the rest of the craft. He managed to lurch the rest of the way, undignified, yes, but preferable to being dragged. He was sure his jailer had absolutely no compunctions about doing that.

A door in the wall supporting the raised area was guarded by two of the men in uniform. Large assault rifles were at attention, and both men stepped closer together, blocking the entry.

"The capt'n wants to see the prisoner," his guard announced. Rodney noticed he was acting belligerently toward the soldiers, speaking with a bravado that the scientist had a feeling was only for show. Maybe the crew was not as willing as appearances might at first suggest.

One of the soldiers opened the door and stuck his head in. "Sir, the prisoner is here." He must have received a reply as he nodded and turned back. "We'll take it from here." He put his hand on Rodney's arm, hauling him forward to the dark interior, pushing him in and closing the door.

Rodney blinked hard a few times to help his eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light. A large figure was standing at the wall of windows along the far wall. In front of the windows was a large desk, covered with papers. Rodney didn't get much time to notice much else as the man turned and addressed him in a very familiar baritone.

"Good to see you again, Dr. McKay. Even though it was under less than auspicious circumstances that we last met."

Shock couldn't even begin to describe what Rodney felt. The breath froze in his throat as anger and fear coupled with extreme anxiety flooded through his sea-sick and abused body. The adrenaline also surging through him helped strengthen his legs and back. "Kolya!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Teyla watched the three men walk away from the jumper with a mixture of longing to be with them and relief that she could stay in the nice, cool, climate-controlled jumper. She sat on the bench seat, legs straight out and a hand supporting her belly. She brought in then let out a long breath, finding it increasingly difficult to do normal things – like breathe regularly – as her baby grew and pushed organs up out of the way, crowding her lungs. For someone who could call on her body at a moments notice and know it would not betray her, this uncomfortable… ungainliness was hard to accept. Once toned muscles were softening into the suppleness of impending motherhood.

Her eyes drifted closed as her body demanded some rest now that it wasn't battling the heat and humidity. She automatically reached out for mind of her developing child. He was growing fast, his brain maturing far quicker than the rest of him. She smiled as he moved within her, a ripple of movement echoed on the surface of her distended belly. As she communed with him, a vague wash of comforting images, he settled down, drowsingly content to move newly formed fingers and toes slowly. She smiled at the notion that he was intrigued by the new movement.

A short time later she roused, her back complaining at the awkward angle. She heaved herself up, taking a few steps to the front of the jumper then back. She arched her back, rubbing the base of her spine, trying to ease the tense muscles. The green wall of foliage was lit gold by the setting sun. Teyla frowned as she glanced at the timepiece on her wrist. She must have rested longer than she thought. It had been over an hour since her team had left.

A thought sent a hand to her radio, but she stopped. No, they would contact her if they were in trouble. They were doing this for her, no need to interrupt. Another deep breath had her pacing again. Suddenly the jumper was too confining and despite her promise to John, she left the jumper breathing in the warm air.

It was considerable cooler than before, though the humidity had not let up. Her hair stuck to her forehead and neck, and sweat rolled maddeningly between her breasts. She felt better, though, for being out in the open, and she took a meandering course in a wide circle around the cloaked jumper.

They had parked on the other side of the ridge overlooking the town. The embankment curved around to her right, not far from her present position. As she stood near the edge, she had a fantastic view of the harbor and the sea beyond. The setting sun was behind her, gilding the tops of houses and down below the tips of the masts were on orange and gold fire. The sea further out was shaded into different tones of blue, beginning with the palest egg-shell blue closest to the beach far below her. As the water deepened, the shades of blue became darker and more vibrant. Waves purled up on the shore below, white foam gilding the crests.

The sun set quickly, twilight deepening even as she walked back to the jumper. A brisk breeze sprang up, cooling her damp skin. She pulled the shirt away from her body, allowing the air to circulate. Once back at the jumper, she sat in the control chair up front for a few moments letting the soft cushioning relax her back. Her fingers tapped at the armrest, trying to keep from activating her radio. Surely they should have found the place by now, and talked to Madesh.

The twilight had leached into full dark as she finally gave into her anxiety and activated her radio. "John, this is Teyla. Please come in."

"Go ahead, Teyla. What's up? Everything okay?" Loud music and voices nearly drowned out his voice.

"Yes, I am merely concerned for you and the others. It is night, and you haven't come back yet. Colonel Carter will be dialing in soon."

"Yeah, I know, Teyla. Sorry about this. Took a little longer to get to the place than I'd hoped. We're here now."

She started to speak when a sudden tightening of the muscles in her abdomen caught her painfully unawares. She didn't want John to be concerned so she took a deep breath and responded. "Any…any word on my people?"

"I haven't been able to get to the bar yet. As you can hear it's pretty busy. Must be a game on," he joked.

Another sharp pain had her biting her lip to keep from making a sound, so she was unable to reply when John added, "We'll call you as soon as we know anything and are on our way back. Sheppard out."

Teyla breathed deeply through three more contractions, teeth clenched against the sharp muscle spasms. She tried to recall what Dr. Keller had told her about her due date. She wasn't anywhere close. Why was she having these? When no more pain followed the last one, she relaxed completely. That was when she remembered the doctor telling her about Braxton-Hicks contractions. Liable to occur during the second trimester, most women barely felt them. Barely feel them, my ass, she thought cynically, rubbing her belly.

A sound outside the jumper had her tensing again, this time in alertness. Someone was coming through the undergrowth from the direction of the town. She swiveled the chair slowly, afraid to make any noise or even much movement even though she knew the jumper was cloaked. She expected to see full dark beyond the reach of the cabin lights, and was surprised to see a ghostly white light outside, lighting up the clearing. A dark figure had come through the wall of foliage, following the path Ronon had cut earlier.

She scanned the interior for any usable weapons as she slowly rose from her seat. The person outside slowed down as they reached the outline of the jumper in the grass. Teyla's breathing increased, her nostrils flaring at each inhale. Her warrior senses were kicking in, her eyes picking up details with heightened acuity. She rolled forward slightly, balancing on the balls of her feet.

The man outside, for she saw now it was a male figure, stood for a moment, eyeing the flattened grass. He moved slowly forward, stopping at the terminus of the ramp. A calculating glance up and he was placing a foot onto the ramp itself. Teyla moved then, going for the knife strapped to her calf. She also reached under the co-pilot seat and grabbed the sidearm hidden there by Ronon. She crouched into a fighting stance as the man moved past the cloak and saw the interior of the craft.

"Saul? Saul Logan?" Teyla cried out in astonishment, the hands holding the weapons dropping to her side. "What are you doing here on Jakurand?"

"Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan." Saul sent a half-hearted bow her way. He was dressed in a bright red and turquoise striped shirt over loose yellow pants. Curly gray hair brushed his shoulders, and bright blue eyes peered out at her from under beetled brows. "I was expecting you, however, you were not expecting me." A nasty smile curved his lips as he looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her obvious pregnancy. "You've been busy, I see."

Her spine stiffened at the insult in the words as well as his tone. Her weapons came up again and he laughed. Her lips tightened to a flat line. "Saul, you were once a good friend to my father, always bringing the best stories, songs, and performances to my people. In the honor of that friendship, tell me what you want and why you are here." She began to get a bad feeling about the whole situation, a sneaking suspicion that there was really no information about her people to be had.

"Honor? Is everything about honor to you people?" He snorted, looking away for a moment. "Do you have any idea what your father did to me? How he looked down on me because of my profession?"

"My father would never do such a thing. He was a good man." She let the gun fall to her side, but kept the knife pointing up. Teyla had never trusted the traveling performer, but whether her father trusted him or not he never showed it. She remembered him always being open and friendly with everyone.

"You were a little girl. You wouldn't know the insult he paid me by never inviting me to share his tent or even a meal." The older man was getting worked up, his hands trembling and his eyes wide. "I'll have you know, I've dined with kings and princes."

"Well, I'm glad for you, Saul, however you still have not answered my question." She was reluctant to bring her weapons up again. He was still a friend of her fathers, despite his lack of insight into her people's customs. They never invited anyone to stay unless they were marrying into the clan.

Saul threw his head back and gave a funny laugh, while taking a small step closer. "Oh, yes, what am I doing here? Well, when I heard that someone was looking to get their hands on a few of the Lanteans, namely their number one team, I remembered an old friend. An old friend who had a daughter who was part of that team." An ugly smile creased his face. "This certain someone was willing to pay very handsomely for the…privilege of having them brought before him."

"I assume, then, that this 'Madesh' you spoke of does not exist?" Teyla raised her chin defensively, re-gripping the knife down by her side.

"Merely a codeword to inform those lying in wait that they have the right people." He took another step closer, within arms reach. Teyla brought up the gun and he froze. "When I did not see you with your compatriots, I had hoped you were merely waiting back at the transport. News of your missing people would surely bring you here." He paused and studied her. "Someone else wants to see you."

"Why?" Her mouth was grim line. To use her in such a fashion simply to get to John and Rodney!

"Why? Have you not been listening? The money, my dear, enough to set me up for life." He reached out and grabbed the gun, forcing her arm up.

She struck out with the knife, but he blocked that with his other arm, revealing a long blade. She shifted her attack lower, aiming for vital organs rather than neck and head. He closed in, ripping the gun out of her hand and tossing it aside. She counter-attacked by throwing her weight onto him, careful to keep the blades away from her stomach.

Teyla then swiveled away, reaching out with the knife and catching his upper arm. He yelled and tried to hit her with his fist. She jerked back, and to balance threw a foot behind her. It caught on a small case sitting to the side, and she lost her carefully preserved balance, falling backward to land painfully on her back.

The older, but surprisingly agile man leapt to the attack. She tried to roll away, but was caught between the bench and another box of emergency supplies. It rolled to land on her leg, bruising it painfully. Saul disarmed her quickly and held his own blade to her throat.

"Don't resist and things will go easier for you." He nodded to her belly. "You wouldn't want any…harm to come to your child, now would you?"

Teyla sneered up at him from her position on the floor. "Harm him and you die."

"A little late for the threats don't you think." He reached out his other hand and pulled the box away from her, spilling some of the contents. "Get up!"

She got to her feet with difficulty, the bruise on her thigh throbbing painfully. Her hands were wrapped protectively around her stomach, the child within quiescent. The gun was in Saul's hand now, aimed at her, and he sheathed his own knife and pocketed hers. When she had gained her feet, he motioned with the gun toward the open hatch.

"If you think I will go with you peacefully, you are quite mistaken." Her eyes bored into his with fervent promise.

He shrugged. "I never expected this to be easy."

Her eyes widened as they spotted the large fist coming straight for her face.

OOOooooOOO

With a gasp, Teyla sat straight up, coming to consciousness all at once. Her first thought was for her child, and her hands felt all over the protruding flesh, hoping to feel movement. She almost lost it when he did finally kick, denting the skin, and pushing her hand away. She struggled to contain the tears that wanted to flow. Tears of relief, tears of frustration, and tears of sadness that all of this was due to her intense desire to find her people. If she hadn't insisted on following up every little lead, no matter how insignificant, her team would be all together, not possibly attacked, hurt, and taken prisoner.

When she had control of her emotions again, she looked around. Bare wooden walls met her eyes. Light came from a couple of large candles on a small desk. It was a small, sparely furnished room. The most comfort was the bed in which she lay. A rough plank ceiling was above her, and she heard running footsteps and voices overhead. A loud, unintelligible command sent the footsteps to the other side.

The other side of what? she thought, as she pushed back the thin blanket covering her. She still had all her clothes, although the knife strapped to her other thigh had been removed. They had not found, however, the stiletto hidden in the back of her bra. That gave her some measure of comfort as she removed it and placed in a more easily accessible spot. Her radio was also missing.

As she rose to her feet, her body became aware of the unsteady nature of the floor. It swayed back and forth, sometimes dipping abruptly. So, a ship, she thought grimly. She'd been on a ship before, and fortunately did not suffer from seasickness like some people did. It did take her a moment to adjust to the different way of moving, and she staggered somewhat as she made her way to the door.

Locked, of course, she cursed as she pulled at the handle. Banging on it brought nothing save a tender hand, and a splinter. She dug it out, and sucked on the sore spot, glaring at the door. After a few minutes of that futility, she moved about the room, searching for anything that was to be found. She pulled the bed apart, the small desk yielded another splinter, and the wardrobe gave her a small pile of dirty clothes. She pushed the foul smelling things away from her as her stomach roiled with sudden nausea.

Finally, her body demanded that she rest. She had lost track of how long she'd been awake, and sat down on the edge of the bed, hissing when she bumped the bruise on her leg. She sucked on one of the splinter wounds, wondering almost sulkily why everything was made of un-sanded wood. Did they have such callused hands that they never got any spikes of wood in their flesh?

The earlier activity above had calmed, but started up again as she sat. The motion of the ship calmed to subtle rocking, and she figured they'd made port of some kind. Footsteps outside her door had her rising to her feet, hands held loose at her sides. The lock was undone and the door thrown open to reveal a brace of relatively clean looking sailors dressed in white cotton shirts and beige pants. Leather boots came up to their knees and wide belts circled their waists. They both wore swords at their hips and both had firearms pointed at her, guns that looked suspiciously Genii.

"You will come with us." The one on the right waved his gun, motioning her out into the hall.

Her lips tightened a fraction as she debated making a break for it. A slight movement of her child made the decision for her. She decided to go peacefully and quietly. Hopefully to an answer of who had her and what they wanted. One of the guards preceded her down a narrow hallway painted a surprisingly cheerful yellow and white. She spied a small kitchen off to the right, a delicious smell causing her stomach to rumble.

The man behind her pushed her gently with his gun, moving her along a little quicker. They climbed a set of steps and she inhaled gratefully as she rose into the open air. The quality of light told her it was close to dawn and a brisk breeze blew in her face. She hadn't realized how stuffy it'd been below. She looked around, noting an island off one side of the ship, the volcanic peak rising far above them. The deck of the ship was busy, sailors scurrying to and fro, some washing and scrubbing the deck, some tightening ropes, and some swabbing out what appeared to be cannon.

She didn't have time to look any closer as she was guided to the far end, and let into a large cabin that seemed to spread the width of the ship. Generous multi-paned windows faced the island and caught the dawn light, reflecting it into the room. A large desk was off to one side, and as she moved closer she saw it was covered with maps and charts. A large leather bound book was lying right on top, open to show the writing format to be similar to a journal.

The room was empty, and she resigned herself to some more waiting. She stood close to the windows, looking at the island. It looked somewhat recognizable as the strengthening daylight brought details into clearer focus. A tight column of smoke rose from partway down the mountain. A boat rowing toward the ship caught her attention. It was full, several sailors rowing hard against the waves curling up to the white beach. A young woman sat in the front, looking somewhat bedraggled and worn. Her wrists appeared to be tied together and she kept glancing apprehensively at the men behind her. Blonde hair caught in a ponytail blew around a familiar face.

Before she got too anxious, hoping it wasn't who she thought, Teyla looked around for some way to see the other woman closer. She glanced around, and with a cry pounced on a sizeable brass spyglass. She extended it and put an eye to it. Her shoulders drooped as she saw that it was indeed the person she thought it was.

"Oh, Dr. Keller, what are you doing here?" she said to herself, eyes closing in consternation. Colonel Carter must have sent a team through when Atlantis couldn't contact them. Where were the others, then?

The sound of the door opening behind her had her swinging around, eyes opened, as she wondered what new threats lay in store. A man had entered covered in a dark cloak that shielded his face, falling in graceful folds to the floor. He walked forward, still in shadow until he was only a couple feet from her. Teyla backed up against the windows as sudden, unreasonable fear tightened her stomach. Instinct sent her arms curling around her protruding abdomen and she raised her chin defensively.

Pale, long fingered hands rose to the hood of the cloak and pushed it back revealing a shock of short gray hair and a white hybrid face with slit-pupiled eyes that gazed at her coldly.

"Hello, Teyla." The last time she'd heard that rough voice was as a bug crawled up her restrained body, determined to feast on her life's blood.

"Michael?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Here we go again, he thought. Major Lorne sighed as he piloted the jumper through the wormhole and into the darkness of a tropical night. It wasn't as dark as he'd have thought - three moons were high in the sky, all three of them large and close to full. They gilded the stargate in silver and cast interesting shadows down the mountainside. The water below glinted here and there as the light caught the waves coming in to shore.

"Always, we're always fetching 'em back." Lt. Eric Evans sat in the co-pilots seat, slouched down and loosely holding his P-90 at his side.

"Hey, not always. Most of the time they manage to get themselves out in the nick of time." The other marine, Sgt. McKinley, sat forward to peer out the front. "I heard it was mostly Dr. McKay that gets them into these scrapes."

Lorne rolled his eyes. "Look, to be fair, Colonel Sheppard is usually just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He glanced behind to McKinley and caught Dr. Keller's eye. "As for Dr. McKay, well…" He let his voice trail off and winked at Keller. She grinned back. "The colonel, or rather colonels, put up with him, and he does do his job, even if it is with a long monologue attached."

The others in the cabin chuckled in agreement. Lorne pulled up the HUD to see where the team was. "Hmm, that's interesting."

"Oh, yeah? Define 'interesting.'" Keller sat forward to peer at the display.

"They're spread all over. See there's one not too far from our present position, one farther north, and two to the west."

"Any way to see who is who?"

Lorne shook his head. "No, nor does it tell us what state they are in." He grimaced. "As long as the beacon isn't shut down, we can't even tell if they're dead or alive."

"Well, let's hope that they're still…alive, then." Keller tried to infuse some positive energy into the suddenly morbid atmosphere.

"I'm sure they are, doc. If anything, Sheppard does know how to keep his team in one piece." He reached out to the dialing pad in the middle of the console and began dialing. "I'll let Colonel Carter know and then we'll go get them." The gate whooshed to life below them, sending a wash of blue light down the mountain. He sent his IDC through so Chuck would know it was them dialing back. "Well, there's no physical sign of them, but I am picking up four locator beacons. They must have been separated as the signals are scattered all over the…" A flash of light followed by a reverberating boom caught his attention. The light, both moon and powder flash, revealed a ship now sitting in the previously empty bay, its white sails practically glowing. "Oh, shit! Incoming!"

He swung the jumper sharply to the right. An explosion just below them rocked the small craft. Another loud thump from the ship below signaled another shot. In the confusing light it was impossible to tell where the shot was headed. He pulled the jumper back to the left, hoping to avoid it while aiming for the still active stargate.

"Let's get out of here before they blow us into fish food."

"But what about Colonel Sheppard and his team?" Dr. Keller had an anxious look on her face.

"We'll come back in a few hours when it's light. I can't see anything in this." He tried to circle the gate, hoping to get out of immediate range while coming back into line with the wormhole. Another shot was followed closely by two more. The resulting explosion rocked the craft more violently than before and the engines sputtered. The jumper sagged to one side. "We're hit."

"And the gate just shut down." Evans pointed.

"Well, dial it up again."

"Yes, sir," Evans replied smartly as he thumped out the address.

Lorne pulled the jumper reluctantly into another pass. "Evans, what about that gate?"

"Sorry, sir. It won't open." He looked out the front to see below. "Either the DHD or the gate itself must've been hit and taken damage. Though I don't know why that would prevent us from dialing."

Lorne set his teeth and pulled on the yoke, cursing the dead drive pod and hoping the other would have enough juice to get them out of the way fast enough to avoid the next lucky shot. The tall volcano peak crested in the view screen as two more shots missed them. He was breathing a sigh of relief when another explosion buckled the rear hatch and took out the other drive pod.

Keller let out a small scream as the jumper nose-dived. Lorne's stomach leaped in the sudden free-fall. He had a little bit of maneuverability left, and he tried to get all he could as the little craft spiraled down to the mountainside below.

"Hang on," he gritted out. "We're going down." Like it wasn't obvious, he told himself.

The jumper shuddered and shivered its way down. Lorne tried to get its nose up as much as possible, hoping to avoid as much damage as possible – both to the occupants as well as the ship itself. An acrid burning smell filled the cabin and he breathed as little as possible.

Tree fronds and vines hit the screen and canopy, slowing the forward momentum slightly. Suddenly the nose dipped down, digging a wide furrow in the ground cover. He lurched forward in his seat, the breath forced out of him as his ribs met the console edge in front of him. Tree trunks whipped past them and Lorne prayed to God that they wouldn't hit one. God must've listened as the jumper slowed to a shuddering halt, nearly buried in torn foliage, tree fronds, rocks, and sand.

It was silent in the jumper save for a hissing sound from a broken seal. After a moment to get his breath back and shake out tight muscles, Lorne turned and surveyed the rest of the occupants. Lt. Evans was groaning and trying to focus his eyes. Blood dripped from a gash in his forehead. A matching smear glinted on the edge of the console in front of him. Dr. Keller was laid out on the floor between the rear seats on her back with Sgt. McKinley laying half over her legs, wedged between his chair and the pilot's seat. Both stirred and groaned even as he watched.

Before anyone could speak, the jumper tilted to the side. A crunch of rock and slither of sand was heard through the cracked windscreen. It settled, but Lorne stood, not wanting to be caught in the craft if it decided to go for a ride down the steep mountainside.

"Okay, everybody out. We're not stable, and I for one don't want to ride this thing down a precipice." Lorne pulled Evans to his feet, ignoring the dull ache high on his own side. McKinley was already up and back near the hatch. Dr. Keller was sitting up but leaning as a precarious angle. "Hey, you okay, doc?" He bent over to look into her eyes.

They blinked a couple of times, and she shook her head slightly to clear it. "Uh, yeah, I…I think so."

"Good, we need to get out of here." He bit back a grunt at the sudden blossoming of pain in his side as he stood straight. "I'll open the hatch." He leaned over the console, searching for the release in the dim light. He hit it, and hit it again when he didn't hear the door open. "Crap." He turned and addressed McKinley. "It's not working, we're going to have to use the manual release." The jumper settled again, the deck tilting at a sharper angle. "Quickly!"

"Yes, sir." McKinley threw open the covering on the manual release and grasped the clear handle. With a reluctant squeak it came down and the hatch opened, letting in light and fresh air. Unfortunately, it stopped halfway down, blocked by buckled metal as well as something outside. Sand trickled down from the canopy.

Lorne eyed the opening, judging it to be wide enough for all of them to get out one by one. He pushed a still dazed Evans in front of him, and guided him up to the back. Dr. Keller was moving under her own steam but cradling an arm.

"Go," he told McKinley. "You can help Dr. Keller and Evans out."

The marine nodded and slipped through the opening, his vest catching momentarily. Keller went next, her slender frame moving easily through as McKinley's hand helped her step down to the shifting sand under them. Lorne made sure Evans was being helped out before he rummaged through the supplies in the back.

"McKinley, here, get these." Lorne threw a few packs of MRE's at the sergeant as he stuck his head back in. He sucked in a breath and tightened his elbow into his side as the movement aggravated the injury.

McKinley stuck his head back in after handing the meals off to one of the others. "Sir, the jumper's about to go down the mountainside. You should hurry."

"I'm coming." Lorne grabbed all the extra ammo he cold find and made a beeline for the exit. The deck shifted again, making footing tricky. The extra effort for balance pulled at his ribs again, causing black spots to dance at the corners of his vision. He felt the jumper start to slide again and grabbed the door, hauling himself up and out.

McKinley and Keller grabbed his hands and helped him out of the craft just as it broke free of whatever was holding it up. Evan took as deep a breath as he could, a hand holding his side, and watched the jumper slide down the spree of lava rock and sand angled down and away from them. The moonlight gleamed on the outer hull for a moment before it was lost beneath the shadow of trees. They could still hear it descending until a loud crash and sudden silence told them it'd reached the bottom.

"Well, there goes another jumper." Lorne turned and surveyed the area and his team.

They were on a small outcrop of volcanic residue overlooking the far side of the island. The moonlight slanting through the trees overhead gave all three of them ghostly pale faces and everything appeared slightly distorted due to the triple moons. Humidity and warmth made for an uncomfortable combination, but fortunately a cooling breeze blew up from the bay, moving the fronds of the trees to create even more distorted shadows.

Evans was sitting on a relatively flat rock, hands holding up his head, eyes still somewhat unfocused. McKinley appeared all right – he was vertical and moving freely. Keller was using one hand to look through her backpack. Her other wrist was already wrapped up, stiff but useable.

She looked up at him suddenly, professional eyes going immediately to where he held his side. "You need to sit down and take off your shirt so I can bind that." She pulled out a large roll of surgical tape.

"I'm fine. See to Evans first." He turned to McKinley. "We need to get back to the stargate, see if we can fix it. If we can't fix it then a place to lay low until Carter dials in." Lorne turned in a half circle surveying the hillside, trying to decide which descent would be the least likely to kill them. He was startled when someone started undoing his vest. "Whoa there, doc." He pushed her hands away. "I said see to Evans first."

Jennifer put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "I will in a moment. I can tell by your face you're in a lot of pain and favoring your side. It's most likely a broken rib." She held up the tape again. "It's not much, but at least it'll make it more comfortable. That way you can get about getting us out of here."

He glared back at her for a moment then relented. But he rolled his eyes as she helped him off with his vest and uniform shirt. He glanced at McKinley. "While she's doing this, why don't you scout around, see if you can find us a safe…er, less dangerous, way down." The marine nodded and turned away, soon lost in the shifting shadows.

Keller lifted his t-shirt out of the way and he held it up for her, wincing as she probed gently. "Yep, like I thought. Broken." She looked up at him. "You seem to be breathing ok?"

He nodded, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible as she started strapping him up. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. In less time than he though possible she was done and he lowered his arms, bringing the slightly sweaty t-shirt with them. He shifted experimentally, smiling his thanks at the doctor when less pain accompanied his movements.

She turned back to her kit. "Just don't do anymore stuff than you need to, Major. Until I can get you under a scanner, I don't know the full extent of the injury." She handed back a couple of pills. "Here, take these. This should help."

"Thanks."

Keller walked over to Evans with a bandage and a flashlight in her hands. Lorne swallowed the pills dry and followed her, careful not to put a foot wrong in the weird light.

"How is he?"

She looked back at him, a worried look on her oval face. "He has lacerations to his temple and forehead. I've already taken care of those," and she indicated the bandage already in place, "but it's the concussion I'm worried about." She sighed and shook her head. "Him, I definitely need to get under the scanner."

"We're doing the best we can doc."

"I know, I…"

She was interrupted by McKinley coming back, slightly out of breath. "Sir, we've got company."

Lorne was instantly on guard, grabbing the flashlight out of Keller's hand and flicking it off. After stashing it in his vest his hands went to his P-90, clicking the safety off. He followed the direction of the other man's pointing arm and spotted movement through the trees below. "How many?"

The other man shook his head. "Hard to tell. The shadows make it difficult." He paused, head tilted to catch the sounds made by the men below. "At a guess…maybe six, no more than ten."

Lorne nodded and turned back to Keller and Evans. "Doc, I need him on his feet and somewhat lucid."

"What? He's barely conscious as it is."

"Just make it happen. We have to go up, the quicker the better."

"Up?" She looked up to the steep slope before them.

"Up." He knelt by her pack, closing it up for her. "And the sooner the better."

She knelt by him and placed a couple more items into the pack. He shifted and pulled out his sidearm, putting it into a resisting hand.

"Here, you'd better have this, just in case."

She looked at him, eyes wide, the gun hanging limply from her hand.

"You do know how to use it?" He knew she did, Colonel Sheppard had made it imperative that everyone on the base be checked out on the 9mm Beretta, at the very least.

"Yeah, but…"

He didn't let her finish, standing and moving over to Evans. "McKinley, give me a hand. We need to get him moving."

Together they manhandled the other marine to his feet. Lorne tapped his cheek a couple of times, until the slightly taller man's eyes finally focused on his team leader.

"Here, this might help." Keller handed Lorne a couple of pills. They got the medicine down Evans' throat and got him moving.

OOOooooOOO

Half an hour later, Jennifer's lungs felt like they would burst and her thighs felt like jello. Major Lorne had forced them to climb a steep, rocky hillside that required every once of concentration and will. Her hands were sore and scratched from the sharp lava rock. Her wrist throbbed painfully from having to pull herself up, and her ankles were sore from getting stuck in the sand filled pockets between rocks.

She drew in a sobbing breath as she heard the curses of the men behind them. Slowly they had been gaining until now they were barely a stones throw away. Jennifer imagined she could even smell their foul breath on the wind that cooled her heated face.

"Come on, Dr. Keller, you're almost there."

The cute marine, Sgt. McKinley was right behind her, urging her to greater efforts. She looked up, spotting the Major and Lt. Evans not far above her. She took a deep breath and reached out to the next rock up.

Come on, Jennifer, you can do this, she told herself. Remember the planet with Teyla, you didn't think you could do what you did then, but you did. Come on, you can do this.

It became a mantra that she repeated to herself, even out loud at the hardest parts over the next ten minutes. They reached a shoulder of the mountain and were finally going down. The ocean glinted up at them through a clear patch in the trees. Off to the right was a sharp drop off, ending in tumbled rocks far below. The moonlight was still bright as day, casting weird shadows that distorted their path. Major Lorne led the way. He paused when they were just over the ridge, glancing about, looking for the safest way down, she assumed.

Suddenly she was thrown off balance as McKinley fell into her, knocking her backward. She landed on her butt, bruising one side on a sharp stone. McKinley must have stepped wrong for he had rolled into her legs, and now tried to grab at her boot to keep from slipping further down the slope. He kept sliding off to the steepest part of the downgrade toward the drop off, going faster every moment. She had to dig her heels in and wrenched her good wrist trying to keep from sliding after him.

"McKinley!" Lorne shouted hoarsely. He clambered back up to where she was clinging to the rocky slope. He stretched out a hand trying to reach his man and gasped in pain as his ribs protested. McKinley flailed, his eyes desperate, trying to reach the life line, but was already too far down. Sand, dust and rocks rolled down after him, following the rapidly falling body.

Jennifer closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders as he reached the drop off and screamed, the sound echoing eerily in the still night air. The scream was silenced suddenly, horribly, brutally. She bit her lip to keep from screaming herself. That could just as easily been her, was the only thought going around in her head.

"No!"

She opened her eyes to see Major Lorne hit the ground beneath him in agony at losing one of his men. He bowed his head briefly, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth to keep back the grief. Now was not the time. She knew that as well as he did. She got shakily to her feet and carefully moved down to him.

She touched his shoulder gently. "Major, we must go. They're not far behind."

He didn't acknowledge her but got to his feet and slowly made his way down to where Evans was waiting. Jennifer followed, keeping an eye on the unstable ground. Lt. Evans was much more lucid than he'd been, able to move on his own and he now took point, P-90 at the ready. Lorne motioned for her to get in between the two men as he took up the rear position.

They moved down the far side of the slope, moving much faster. They kept to the trees, keeping in shadows as much as possible, especially since their followers had crested the ridge not long after they had. Lorne moved to point position and led them onto a shelf of rock jutting out from a short wall, hoping to minimize tracks. They came across a narrow defile in the face of the cliff, deep in shadow.

"Evans, you and Keller stay here."

"What? What do you mean stay here?" Jennifer was frankly incredulous. "They're right behind us!" She heard her voice rising in panic, but couldn't stop it. Evans slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Wedge yourself as far in as you can." He poked his head into the narrow opening. "It looks like it goes a ways in." He turned back to her. "I'm going to backtrack and see if I can't stop them or delay them. Evans, you keep watch. With this narrow an entry, you shouldn't have a problem."

Evans nodded and removed his hand from her mouth. "Yes, sir. Be careful, sir." He guided Jennifer into the claustrophobic space.

"Radio silence unless you hear three clicks. I'll be back." Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows.

"Get back as far as you can," Evans instructed quietly.

Jennifer sighed, feeling her way slowly with hands outstretched. She hissed as her bruised left hand hit the back wall with enough force to bend it back. She turned, grateful to see the outline of the opening illuminated by the dim light outside. A shadow passed in front of it and took up position just inside. She leaned against the wall behind her, sighing as all her aches and pains started throbbing in time to her pumping blood.

She lost track of time in the silent dark. Evans kept quiet and she followed suit. After a few minutes of standing her legs began shaking and she slid down the wall to her haunches. Her eyes slid closed and she began to drift.

Loud voices followed by a thunderous volley of shots roused her to full awareness. Evans defended the opening, the sound of the shots resounding and re-echoing through the small space. His fire was returned and he moved quickly to the side. Jennifer screamed as a bullet shattered a rock right by her head. She slid as far to the side as possible, hands over her ears, head down almost between her knees. She squeezed her eyes closed, fear quaking through her.

After a time, it was silent. Something nudged her shoulder. She opened her eyes slowly wondering why it was light enough to see now. A couple of pairs of boots filled her vision and her head came up, hands falling away from her ears. She looked up slowly, taking in the beige pants and white shirts.

A triple-barrel shotgun and a Wraith stunner were aimed right at her by two men she'd never seen before.


End file.
